My Seasons of Discontent
by Rach-x
Summary: Rachel ficlet, post S4 :


Summer

That year, summer could not come quick enough. By the end of a punishing term, we were both ready for the long holidays which lay stretched out in front of us. They dangled freely in our wake; tempting us into their luxurious clutches and like him, I soon found myself counting the days, hours and minutes until their arrival.

He was spontaneous and I think that was my favourite thing about him. It wasn't the reason I loved him; that came with the long afternoons and lazy mornings spent in his company. Time didn't matter anymore. My life, as it were back then, was carefully split into manageable chunks; ordered and manageable. Take the mornings for example; I liked to leave an hour and a half to get myself awake and ready for the day and this enabled me to get to school before the rush began. He had soon put paid to that, informing me that it was much easier to sleep in the mornings than it was at night. How could he be blamed for the fact that we were running half an hour late when his body had decided decades ago that it was not fit for morning exertion? I rubbished that argument on the spot but perhaps my body had decided it needed to be in synch with his because late mornings soon became a regular occurrence.

Looking back, I suppose that it was somewhat ironic that he woke before me on the last day of term. He sat bolt upright in the bed, the colour drained from the cheeks and I could sense something was wrong as he nudged me awake before peppering my skin with his lips. Pulling me close to him, I was dimly aware of his heart thundering against his ribcage. A bad dream was the conclusion we had both reluctantly come to but I could sense unrest.

That is not to say I foresaw what happened next but maybe I should have taken the morning's events as a warning of sorts. Perhaps then I could have been somewhat prepared for what came next. It may surprise you to know that I wasn't angry at her. Naturally, that was a motion I would inevitably pass through as the months progressed and I would be lying if I said it was the quickest passage of all.

I refused then, and I stand by it now, to believe that what we had was a mistake. How can falling in love, even when it is destined to career your life of course ever be a mistake? If I had, as I had initially believed I would be able to, brushed him aside then perhaps I would be happy; maybe I would wake up sometimes and not wish he was beside me but in some way I am happy. I may not be content but I am happy.

That summer passed in a blur. My birthday came and went with the waves that lashed the cove underneath the cottage where I marooned myself for much of the break. I busied myself by exploring every nook and cranny of the Cornish coastline. On the fourth night, I ventured into the local pub and, over a bottle of wine; I poured my heart out to the Landlord's wife. She carried on listening long after the last customer had left. It was the same the following evening and soon we fell into a comfortable routine. Louisa said that she was grateful for female company in what had proved to be a male dominated job.

He tried to call but I could never bring myself to answer. It did not seem to deter him; he must have somehow sensed that every time the phone rang, it took all of my strength not to answer and bathe in the familiarity of his voice. At some point, towards the end of the holidays, he stopped trying and a small part of me died along with the loss of contact. The comforting trill of my phone had become my lifeline; my hold on reality and whilst his name still popped up on the screen, I could, for the time being at least, pretend.

I couldn't get the image of my pregnant sister out of my mind for the duration of the six weeks. I was missing out on so much and yet I wanted to remain as far away as possible from either of them. The photo album had found its way out of my case and onto the dining table during my last lunch with Louisa before I left. It was the first time I allowed myself to cry. I didn't want pity and the last thing I needed to hear was deformation of Eddie and Mel's characters and I think my new friend sensed this. Instead, she allowed me to air my anxieties and my disappointment at not being able to watch my sister bloom in the latter stages of her pregnancy. He did not come into it; my emotions, at that point, were too raw to try and piece together some sort of reaction to my loss. I was non-committal; knowing full well that the healing process would begin in its own time. The harder I pushed the further into the future it would happen and I did not want to wait forever; I didn't want to hurt for the rest of my life.

It was with a heavy heart that I reluctantly left my sanctuary a week before school started again. It was to be a big term, a huge turning point in the future of Waterloo Road.

It was to be an autumn of changes and regrets.

The summer of discontent was followed by months of darkness.

The beacon which would light my way came from the most unexpected of places.


End file.
